Chapter 18: Twins - The Shadow of a Vicious King

POV: E

The mist drains from the bridal shop in slow ribbons, thinning until the rows of gowns come back into view. Max stands at the center of the room, her chest rising hard, her red curls spilling in chaotic spirals over her shoulders. Frozen beads of mist melt from her body, sliding down her arms. They leave faint trails along her pale skin, the lace of her bra, and the frilly fabric hugging her hips.

The shop’s white lights shine in Max’s green eyes. She looks shaken and furious and impossibly relieved, like a sacrificial lamb who somehow survived the altar and crawled her way out of her destiny.

She drags her fingertips along the curved wall of the bubble around her, gliding over the surface as though she’s petting a living creature. The orb shimmers in response. Then, with a soft thrum, it snaps out of existence.

I pull in a sharp breath, and my voice scrapes free at last. “Fuck. Max, are you okay?”

“Thanks to you,” she says, her voice cracking.

“I couldn’t move… I couldn’t speak.”

My body throbs from the strain of what I became around her. Upholding the shield drained every bit of me, and dark spots dance at the edge of my vision. Flamings hells, I don’t want to fade now.

“I didn’t know if it would work. I couldn’t do anything else. I just…held on,” I explain.

“You saved me.”

The words are bright and unbearably tender.

Max crosses the space between us and grips my shoulders, and for an instant, I think I’m going to fall straight through the floor. Her nails sink into my skin, grounding me to existence.

Then her mouth crashes into mine.

Her kiss is desperate and bruising—a pull so fierce I suspect she’s trying to anchor me to her plane by sheer will. She holds me down, drags me in, gripping so tight her knuckles turn white, as if she’s terrified I’ll slip into nothingness again. Her nails rake along the back of my neck, dig into my shoulder blades, and scrape against the ghost-marrow of me.

When she reaches for me, I become real.

A raw, animal moan breaks out of her, and hot tears streak down her cheeks. She clutches me harder, her whole body trembling like letting go might tear her apart.

Her lips taste of fire and blood and desperation.

Bliss floods me because she wants this. After running from our first kiss, from the truth, from herself…she wants me. She kisses me as though I’m her last tether in a world gone cold, as though she wants to swallow me drop by drop.

I kiss her back.

My hands buried in her hair.

Her fingers curled around the collar of my shirt.

Her mouth breaking open.

She pulls me closer still, until there’s no space, no air, no boundary—just her beautiful fire and my irrational need, tangled in a kiss that telegraphs resurrection and ruin.

And for the first time since I died, I don’t fear the darkness.

I won’t vanish now, because she won’t let me.

The shop clerks and customers start to groan and grumble, groggily awakening from their magic-induced slumber.

Max lets go of me with a start, snaps her black trench coat from the rack by the entrance, and wraps it around her trembling frame.

“Let’s get out of here,” she says.

The soft chime of the bell resonates above her head as she exits, and I follow. The white ballerinas she was wearing slosh in the water puddles, but she doesn’t double back for her boots, her clothes, or her fiancé.

The loud ringtone of Max’s cellphone buzzes through the open street, and she pulls it out of her coat pocket.

“Nick. Hi,” she says.

The gruff, worried voice on the line comes out even more frantic than the other night. “What happened? Where are you?”

“I left the house,” she admits, chewing on her bottom lip.

“What? No, Max, it’s too dangerous.”

“I know, I fucked up. I just—I had to clear my head. I’m heading back now. I’ll see you there soon.”

“How did you know?” he asks.

A small smile touches her lips. “I can hear the airport speakers behind you.”

“I’ll take a cab home. Then we’ll talk. Stay inside until then,” he orders.

“Promise.” She ends the call and slows for a moment, a nervous sigh slipping from her throat. She tucks the phone back into her coat and purses her lips in a half-grimace, half-smile. “Well, I hope you’re ready to meet my brother.”

“What does he know about me?”

She bites her bottom lip. “Erm…absolutely nothing.”

Nothing? Not even a hint of me, of what I am to her?

“I couldn’t tell him about you or the Mist King—not over the phone,” she adds quickly. “He would’ve thought I’d been enchanted by some dark Fae, or worse.”

All this time, she kept me a secret. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little disappointed…and a lot turned on.

“Enchanted by some dark Fae, eh?” I echo, a hint of a smile pulling at my mouth. If only it were that simple. “Can’t say he’s entirely off.”

* * *

Max joins me in the kitchen, her hair still damp from the shower. Droplets cling to her neck, slipping beneath the collar of her black pullover. Her jeans are clean and dark, her skin flushed from the heat. The bridal underwear is bunched in her hands, and she dumps it into the trash. That alone loosens the tightness in my chest.

She’s home. Away from danger. Away from that damn shop.

More than that, she slipped off her ring. The sight of her bare finger fills me with joy, relief washing through me in a slow, steady wave. I didn’t invade her privacy this time. I gave her space to scrub the icy kiss of mist from her body. The thought of her safe, warm, and single is delirious.

I won. And now I’m about to meet her brother.

Max steps deeper into the kitchen and sets a kettle on. The scent of lavender and lemon balm drifts through the air. She looks more at ease now. Lighter.

“So what’s your brother like?” I ask.

“He’s strong and stubborn. Much more than me. And paranoid.” She glances back at me. “He’s going to hate you.”

I frown. “Why?”

“Because you’re invisible. And you…” she averts her gaze and waves dismissively in my general direction, “you know. Want me.”

Her shoulders tense the moment the words leave her mouth, as if she didn’t mean to say them aloud. Her hand hovers over the kettle before she folds her arms across her chest.

“He was impossible when I started dating Lachlan,” she goes on. “Had him followed for a month. He was convinced my new fiancé was a spy on the Reds’ payroll. He’s going to lose his marbles when he finds out I’m getting cozy with a ghost.”

She nudges a spoon on the counter, then straightens a stack of napkins that were already perfectly lined up.

“Come to think of it…he’s hated everyone I’ve ever dated,” she sighs.

She lumps me in with them—the ones who got to hold her at night.

It makes me proud and giddy. Maybe even a little sly.

“So, he always dislikes your boyfriends,” I sum up.

She takes a careful sip from her cup. “Yes.”

“And you think he’s going to hate me.”

“Without a doubt.”

I let the insinuation stretch.

“Does that make me your boyfriend?”

“Err— No.” Her jaw drops open for half a second, her knuckles whitening around the small, handleless ceramic cup. “Shut up.”

“But you linked the two,” I tease.

The flush at her throat awakens something feral and satisfied inside me.

“No, I didn’t,” she argues.

I move behind her, unable to resist the magnetism of that blush. “Yes, you did.”

“You’re creepy as hell. Always glued to my side, stalking my every move. Always pushing me to examine my feelings…” she mutters.

“Helping you,” I correct. “And keeping you company.”

She rolls her eyes. “That’s the only tolerable part.”

With a grin, I press my fingers to her pulse point, the need to kiss her there thudding through me like a second heartbeat. “Didn’t we look good together?” I breathe. “In that mirror.”

My fingertips glide along the nape of her neck, enough to lift the fine hairs there, and her lids flutter closed.

“Don’t remind me,” she says. “I promised a fucking Fae King I would fetch him something I’ve never seen or heard of in my entire life, otherwise he’s going to burn down the only home I’ve ever known. Let’s concentrate on that.”

I lean closer, letting my voice ghost over the shell of her ear. “All work and no play makes Max a dull witch.”

I wrap a hand around the side of her neck, my thumb brushing the angle of her jaw. “Don’t overthink it.”

She sucks in air as I lower my nose to the sensitive skin behind her ear, letting the shape of my mouth hover where a kiss should land, and a shiver quakes her spine. I’m not solid, not truly, but the veil between us thins, and she turns her head, leaning into me.

“By the Dark One, you don’t know when to stop, do you?”

I grin at that. “I never stop.”

A hollow space twists in my chest. I want what I cannot have—her warmth, her pulse, the curve of her neck under my mouth. I want to imprint my fingerprints on her hips and brand memories into her skin, not just haunt the spaces around her.

“Kiss me again,” I say.

“It’s not that simple.”

“Isn’t it? When you touch me, I become real. Let me be real for you.”

She digs her hands into my hair and caresses the sensitive skin of my hairline with her thumb, and just as a thought, I’m solid again.

I press my lips to her pulse point. “Good girl.”

She smirks at that. “I’m not sure this side of you is as cute as you think it is, boo.”

I brush my tongue against her earlobe. “You love it.”

“All play and no boundaries makes E a naughty ghost,” she says lightly, but the humor slips from her lips when I kiss her neck.

Every time she says that one, shabby letter, my appetite only grows bolder. I’m losing myself, unraveling thread by thread, but I don’t want it to stop. Not when she leans into my ghostly kiss. Not when she offers both the purpose and solace I’ve been waiting for since the day I died.

We both startle when the door slams open, and Max skirts away from me. The leftover tension in her shoulders evaporates when her twin, Nickolas, steps through the door. He doesn’t have to knock. He’s home.

Old magic that carries teeth fills the entryway, along with the scents of metal and rust. Nickolas’s bite of power is all blood and tears, tickling the back of my throat and bringing on a forceful sense of déjà vu. I’ve met someone like him before, but I can’t remember who. His hair is a shade darker than Max’s, but red as flames, and his green eyes burn with intensity and violence. His freckles, nose, and chin match Max’s, but the angle of his jaw is harsher and more angular, and his shadows run deeper. His broad shoulders and thick arm muscles give him a slightly triangular shape, and his skin is marked by the world in ways hers isn’t. A scar hooks down the left side of his neck—a mix between a burn and a laceration—and descends under the collar of his dark sweater.

His dangerous gaze softens as it lands on her. “Maxie.”

Max’s voice cracks. “Nick… You’re finally home.”

She rushes forward and embraces him. He huffs out a rough laugh and wraps his arms around her. Her breath shakes as she holds on for dear life, tears misting her closed lashes, and the rawness of their reunion prompts me to keep my distance.

“I thought I might never see you again,” Max whispers.

“I’m here now, sis,” he pecks her hair.

They stay like that until her breath steadies. When she steps back, I hover forward.

Nick digs the balls of his feet into the ground and looks straight through the air where I stand.

He snaps open the leather sheaths strapped over his thighs and draws two wave-bladed daggers. “Careful. There’s something in the house.”

Max scratches her neck with her lips pursed in a sheepish, uncomfortable manner. “Don’t worry, I know who he is.” She wrings her hands together as she walks toward me. “Nick, this is E. E, this is my brother Nick.”

Nick’s posture shifts slightly from a fighting stance to a measuring, defensive glare. “E?”

“He’s a ghost,” Max explains.

His brows lift in a dark, unimpressed arc, and his grip tightens around the hilt of his daggers. “A ghost, eh?”

“Easy. Mabel vouched for him, so you can sheath your weapons. It’s not as though you could intimidate him with something sharp,” Max scolds.

Nick cuts her a sideways look. “Mabel vouched for him?”

“Yes! Why do you think I trust him?”

Nick tucks his weapons back in their place. “It wouldn’t be the first time…”

Max’s eyes fly to the ceiling. “I slipped up one time. One! When will you stop holding that over me?”

“When you stop dragging trouble home like homeless kittens you think you can fix.”

There’s a story here, written in the flush on her neck, and the way she averts her gaze. I’ll have to ask about it later, when we’re alone.

Nick exudes both the poise and hot-bloodedness of a crime lord as he cracks a slow, calculated grin. “What do you want with my sister, Casper?”

“I want to protect her,” I deadpan.

Men like Nick smell sugar-coating like blood in water, and a snarl slowly unfurls across his face. “And I should just take your word for it?”

“I saved her from the reavers this morning. And begged her to come back here,” I say.

Max nods. “He’s telling the truth,” but Nick doesn’t blink.

“I don’t trust someone without a face. Or a name.”

I recognize the challenge in his piercing gaze. He expects me to squirm, to over-justify myself, and work harder for his trust, but I’m not afraid of him. And I’m not going anywhere.

“I’ve seen him,” Max says quickly. “In the mirrors at the bridal shop. He’s Fae, and judging by his magic, a very powerful one.”

“You mean he was Fae. Before he died.”

A deep shade of red brands Max’s cheeks. “Right.”

“I’m not a danger to Max, so there’s no need to be rude,” I chime in.

Nick exhales through his teeth. “Fae or not, I don’t think we should trust him. Not until we know who he is. And what he truly wants.”

Max clicks her tongue. “Typical Nick.” She returns to the kitchen, shaking her head as if her brother is the biggest ass on the planet—and I’m a close second. “Speaking of ghosts, I spoke with the phantom who sent his monsters after Kerri, and as it turns out, he’s not a ghost at all. We should focus on that. Tea?”

Nick gives her a reluctant nod. “Sure.”

“It’s Armand.” Max keeps her back turned to us as she pours Nick and herself a cup of steaming tea. “Mabel’s first husband. He’s back, even though everyone thought he died at the end of the war. The faceless men—the reavers—answer to him. They’re animated bodies without souls.”

Nick crosses to the counter to grab his teacup. “Mabel always believed Armand might still be alive. She buried him deep, but she feared it wasn’t enough.”

Max spins to face him with her fingers clenched around the sugar tongs. “Why didn’t she breathe a word of this to me before the attack?”

“Well, that’s Mabs. Always playing a game we don’t know the rules of.” Nick blows on the steam curling from his cup and leans against the counter. “Where is she now?”

“She came home to warn me, then flew off to gods know where. She told me to wait for her here.”

Nick takes a slow sip, unfazed. “I know people in Faerie who can help.”

Max squints. “How?”

His eyes dance. “The refugees have been coming by the dozen lately. The upheaval in the realm’s magic and the death of the previous Red Queen have allowed my associates to push deeper into the Red Forest and free more of our people than ever before. But it’s not enough to flee and hide. Witches want to go home, Max. They want to fight for their freedom. End the Reds’ tyranny. And the ongoing rebellion that tides over the Fae continent might give us enough momentum to do just that.”

Max’s brows knit together. “You want to team up with the Fae revolutionaries who destroyed the Eternal Chalice?”

Nick shrugs as if her scolding tone isn’t warranted. “Why not? We share the same enemy.”

Max slaps his arm. “Nick! What did you do?”

He wets his lips, looking everywhere but at her. “That golden spindle the Mist King is searching for… I know what it is. And what it does.” Nick’s hand curls in a fist over his lap before he shoots a bone-chilling glare my way. “I want Casper out of here first. Then, I’ll tell you.”

“I’m no cartoon ghost,” I shoot back. “And I suggest you change your tone.”

His menacing stare turns amused for a split second. “Is that so?”

He wants to draw battle lines between us. The urge to stand my ground, to show teeth and remind him he doesn’t get to command me, rises in my blood. This house is as much mine as it is his, and I won’t be left out of his plans, not if they involve Max.

Max exhales, shaking her head. “E…can you give us a minute?”

My instincts scream for me to stay, to keep Nick from warning her against me, against whatever fragile, impossible thing is growing between us.

I know exactly how I must look to him. An intruder.

I’m an invisible stranger haunting his sister, lurking around his childhood home. Yeah, I wouldn’t trust myself either if I were in his shoes.

“Please,” Max adds.

“As you wish,” I ground out, cold as the grave I crawled out of.

Nick could convince her to cut ties, to ward herself, to cast me out like the evil spirit he’s already decided I am. The thought hollows me. What if the trust between us erodes now that she has someone else to talk to? What if I was only ever a distraction she used to pass the time? But she asked, so I force myself back, inch by inch, the space between us suddenly wider than it’s ever been.